The Black Forest

We are analog beings. We do not make perfect copies of ourselves. Our memories bleed like a watercolor canvas. Never truly static. A little water will change everything. Our nature is true. Our chemistry sets are somewhat predictable though volatile.

My age is showing. When I see film emulsion, magnetic tape, watercolors, oil paints, charcoal drawings, imperfectly drawn circles... I see us. Skipping down the sidewalk with decay. The slow fade to black. No color. No color at all.

Why are we so scared? Why do we hold a death grip fighting change? Do we really think that at this very moment we are at the height of our capabilities? That this is it? Our possibilities are just diminishing returns from now on? Is this why digital technology is so appealing? The perfect copy. The perfect memory. Static and immortal for all time?

We are immortal. It's just that we are just a part of it. The notes of our echo are still ringing, just not perfectly from our initial bursts. They may barely resemble us as we think of ourselves now. Just as we barely resemble ourselves from when we were children. We've grown up. We've changed. Life has stained and run us through.

A painting is no less powerful whether it be new or old. It is what it is. However faded it becomes, the residue and essence remains true... as we.